


Chivalry

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Ashelix Week, Enemies to Lovers, Felix Birthday Week, Graphic Violence, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, i cannot promise a happy ending, relationship is implied/background, starts with lonato dying and only goes downhill from there, this is very sad, this story is very sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22821496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: - June 29, 2020: This fic is on hiatus until I can clear out other WIPs -Ashe wanted to be a knight. He wanted to be brave, loyal, true, courageous.All of that changed the day Lonato died.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 23
Kudos: 35
Collections: Felix Birthday Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Felix BDay Week day 1, prompt "Family | Celebration/Mourning | Birthday."
> 
> My basic idea for this was, "What if Ashe WASN'T cool after Lonato died? What if he didn't take it in stride? What if instead of being sad he was very, very, very fucking angry about it?" I used a lot of the dialogue from in the game and built around it. I also assumed Ashe and Felix's supports happened super early. 
> 
> Happy birthday, Felix. It's time to suffer.
> 
> #
> 
> For this and the rest of Felix BDay Week, I am doing ASHELIX WEEK. I am posting 7 new fics. On Ashe Week (in March), I'll be posting Chapter 2 of ALL seven fics. So come back then for the conclusion to these stories.

“I'm Lonato's adopted son.”

Felix looked up from the sword he polished. Ashe stood between Dimitri, Byleth and Catherine, his shoulders hunched as though shielding him from the others. 

“He raised me as though I were his own blood,” Ashe said. “He was always so kind. I don't understand.”

Ashe shook his head at the ground. “I guess it has to do with Christophe...” 

Catherine abruptly changed the topic, but Felix stopped listening. He watched Ashe, bent and withering like a trampled flower. The others talked over and around him as he swayed in the brush of a breeze. 

“He was executed by the church,” Catherine said.

“The church executes criminals?” Byleth said.

Felix saw Ashe's shoulders jerk as though he'd been struck. Felix's own body was still, his hand frozen mid-motion down his sword. He nearly rose, he nearly went to Ashe in that moment, dragged him away from Catherine (“Whatever the truth behind the incident may be...” she said, and Felix could see another weight sag Ashe's shoulders toward the ground). 

But Felix hesitated. 

A soldier ran up to Byleth, saluting. “Report!” the soldier said. “The enemy is approaching. They can't be avoided. Their numbers are far greater than we predicted. They used the fog to slip past the perimeter.”

Catherine set her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest. “It looks like our mission just changed, Professor. Everyone, prepare for battle.” 

Ashe finally lifted his head. Felix saw his mouth drop open, the silence there more horrible than the scream coiling Ashe's face in its attempt to escape. He stood frozen like an icicle: Delicate, pale and poised to shatter. 

Felix rose. No one who looked like Ashe did in that moment should be heading into a battle. But before he could move Sylvain slapped his back.

“Looks like this just got exciting,” Sylvain said. “We might get to have some fun out there.” 

“Shut up,” Felix snarled.

“What the hell, man? I thought you'd be into it.” 

Felix ignored him, but when he turned to find Ashe, the archer was already gone.

#

Felix carved a path through the fog, cutting down Gaspard's militia along the way. The hastily trained and outfitted townsfolk could offer little resistance. Felix's blade shown wetly, a slash of crimson among the gray mist dampening the stagnant air.

He glanced to his side and found Sylvain and Ingrid charging through the mist atop their war horses, lances sweeping down. Even Ingrid barely managed to hide the giddy gleam in her eyes; Sylvain openly grinned as he went about his cruel work. 

Felix grimaced. At least Dimitri and Dedue had the decency to look repulsed as they cut through Gaspard's sad resistance. 

“Lord Lonato doesn't deserve such sadness and anger.” 

A militia man charged between the trees, his lance leveled at Ashe, his voice high and crazed as he made his desperate attack. Ashe pointed an arrow at the man, but did not loose the bolt. 

“It's your turn to suffer,” the militia man shrieked, sprinting dead ahead. 

Ashe released the arrow and the man's cry cut short as he choked on the bolt through his neck. 

Even as Felix turned away, he heard Ashe's soft voice fill the sudden stillness. “Why, Lonato? Why did you drag so many others into this?” 

Felix studied the ground, focused on his breaths, paced through all the things that were supposed to make battlefields palatable. But none of them silenced the echoes of that voice in his ears. 

When he finally looked back up, Ashe was gone, swallowed by the fog, a silver shadow in a field of consuming gray. 

Felix pressed on. It was all he could do. Perhaps some of the militia had the sense to retreat, but so many still placed themselves in his path. Felix did what he'd been trained to do, splashing red against the gray like a grotesque artist who could only paint in a single color. 

Eventually, he reached Lonato. 

The lord's armor glinted, even in the gloom, the polished metal covering his horse as well as Lonato himself. He gripped a spear in one hand, but its tip sagged toward the ground. 

Ashe faced him, his bow loose in his hands, alone and small before man and beast in full armor. 

“Stand down, Ashe,” Lonato said, his voice rasping with desperation. “I must destroy these evil-doers by any means necessary.”

“Please surrender, Lonato.” 

Felix could see Lonato wince, even from several feet away. Lonato shook his head, the barest of twitches, yet it thudded down like the headsman's axe.

Still, Ashe tried. “Whatever your reasons for doing this, we can still talk it out.”

Lonato gathered himself, sitting up straighter in his saddle. “Rhea is an infidel who has deceived the people and desecrated the goddess. We have virtue and the goddess herself on our side.” 

“Even if all that's true, dragging the townsfolk into it like this isn't right,” Ashe pleaded. 

“Enough,” Lonato said. His eyebrows curled, his mouth flickering through emotions more quickly than Felix could follow. His voice sounded tattered and torn as an old flag when he spoke in a quiet rasp. “If that is how you feel, prepare yourself. I'm putting an end to this.” 

Lonato raised his lance, turning his destrier to face Ashe. Still, the boy did not lift his bow, standing open and defenseless. 

For a moment, no one moved: Not Ashe, not Lonato, not even Felix. For a moment, even the fog stopped curling in on itself. The air was a held breath, the gray a dampening hand holding the world in place in this one heartbeat, this one last breath before everything broke. 

Then, Lonato charged.

Ashe remained still, even as the horse barreled toward him. Felix sprinted forward, willing his legs to push harder, move faster. He wasn't sure if it was Lonato's cry shattering the quiet or his own or both. 

Ashe remained still.

The horse noticed Felix before Lonato did and skittered a step. Felix swung at the animal, wide and wild, but it was enough to make the beast rear up, kicking at the air as it screamed at Felix. 

Lonato fell with a clatter of metal. The horse danced aside, snorting and stamping. Felix leapt atop Lonato before he could regain his feet and grabbed the front of his armor, raising his blade high. 

“You have been deceived by that witch,” Lonato spat. 

Felix brought his sword down, silencing any further rambling as the blade speared through Lonato's throat. Blood gushed from his mouth like water overflowing a dam. “That vile woman,” he wheezed. “Christophe... Forgive me...” He choked again, coughing blood out in a splatter that flecked Felix's face. Then, finally, he lay still. 

Felix climbed to his feet, yanking his sword free. He could not clean it on the dead man, not with all that armor, so instead he simply held it, letting the blood drip at his feet. 

“Lonato, I...” Ashe said. 

Felix jerked around, remembering his classmate. 

Ashe shuddered when he saw Felix covered in Lonato's blood. Felix wanted to reach out, to do something, say something. But no words felt large enough to fill the chasm opening between them. 

_”Exactly like the knight in this story!” Ashe said, once, lifetimes ago._

_Felix grimaced. He wanted to argue, wanted to show Ashe just how misplaced his praise and adoration was. Yet he didn't. He read the stupid book. Read it cover to cover. And read it again. Then he sought Ashe out to return it. And despite everything, despite himself, despite Glenn, despite his father's stupid ideals about “dying like a knight,” he told Ashe he should aspire to do just that._

_Because if anyone was going to be the type of knight Felix could actually stomach, it was Ashe._

_“Don't stop being that half-knight,” he said. But what he'd meant was: “Don't die. Don't throw your life away for this bullshit.” Because Felix wasn't sure he could stand it._

Not that it mattered any more. Not with how Ashe was looking at him now.

Catherine swagged between them, hands on her hips as she glared at the dead man. “I never thought I'd see Lonato meet his fate,” she said. “Well done, everyone. Especially you, Felix. Let's gather our troops and go.” 

And without another word, they did.

#

Felix cleaned the blade, wiping Lonato's blood off with an old bit of cloth. Ashe's voice rang in his ears the entire time. Each fleck of blood he removed from the blade left it, and him, more bare, more exposed to those bright green eyes asking “why” over and over on the battlefield.

“You missed a spot,” Sylvain said. He poked a finger at Felix's forehead.

Felix scrubbed at his face. “Stop that.”

“It's cute,” Sylvain said. “Like a little freckle.”

“It's not cute,” Felix said. “It's another man's blood.” 

“OK, geeze. And here I thought being the hero of the battle might put you in a better mood for once.”

“I'm not a hero,” Felix grumbled. 

He kept at the blade, trying to remove every hint of gore. Some seemed intent on lingering to stain the sword permanently. 

“Why...”

A soft cry, a plea, a wish, fragile and fractured and lost on the wind. Holy, sacred and hopeless. Felix looked up from his blade, afraid of what he'd find.

Ashe stood with Dimitri and Byleth, his head hanging so heavy it might have weighed as much as a mountain, his hands curled into fists at his sides. 

And, again, that wail pulled from his thin chest: “Why? Why did this happen?”

Dimitri shifted his feet. Byleth folded their arms. 

_Cowards,_ Felix thought with a grimace. 

“Lonato was always such a kind man,” Ashe said. “Everyone in the village was ... was so nice to me. And I ... I killed them.” He loosened his hands, but only to stare down at his palms as though struggling to recognize the lines etched into them. “I killed them all.” 

He wavered as he went on: “I had to, I know I had to ... I know that! But still ... what does that make me?”

No one dared answer at first. Then Dimitri stepped forward, placing a hand on Ashe's shoulder. Ashe jerked, blinking as though only just realizing Dimitri was there. 

“Please,” Dimitri said, “don't beat yourself up, Ashe. We did what had to be done.”

Ashe was still shaking his head. “I'm ... I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bothering you. I'm ... I'm going to check on the town. I hope my brother and sister are OK.” 

They let him leave. Dimitri and Byleth merely watched as Ashe slouched toward the town. Felix wanted to leap up, to stop the boy before he could plunge himself any deeper into this. 

But he didn't. He hesitated. He waited. He weighed. And by the time he stood, Ashe was already gone.

#

They returned to the monastery, basking in the glow of their victory. A rebellion quelled. A traitor killed. Rhea and the rest of the Officers Academy rolled out a hero's welcome for the Blue Lions, and Felix in particular.

He could not stand their praise, their attempts at accolades. He refused every meal, every compliment, every pat on the back. As the days passed, his revulsion grew like a stone expanding in his stomach, making him feel queasy and disgusted. 

Ashe had all but vanished. 

Felix saw him at their classes, usually, but he often sat in the back, his eyes rarely rising from his textbooks. He trained in silence, ate alone, spoke only when Byleth demanded it. Everyone seemed to treat it as ordinary and unremarkable and that only made the disease roiling Felix's stomach more vile.

Why was it that only Felix seemed to see? At first he thought it was cruelty or stupidity, but the longer he wondered, the more he realized how little had changed from before the mission. Few had ever bothered noticing Ashe and when they did it was usually Ashe helping them, cooking for them, offering them advice or assistance or just a friendly face. Had anyone but Felix even bothered talking to the boy? Did they know his favorite book was “Loog and the Maiden of Wind?” Did they know he had siblings? Had they ever bothered to ask? 

The answer lurked in that pit of sickness now permanently squeezing Felix's stomach. Even though it no longer mattered, couldn't possibly still matter, he still hesitated to admit even just to himself why he was the only one who could count the freckles splashed across Ashe's cheeks and recite his favorite lines from his favorite books and pick out his preferred sweets from the dining hall.

Once, Felix caught him in the church staring at the ceiling as though waiting for it to collapse on him. 

Felix kept his footsteps soft. Ashe looked like he could shatter in a breeze, like the startle of hearing Felix's approach might be enough to push him over the precipice upon which he tottered. His lips were softly parted as he regarded the roof, his eyes empty, clear glass. 

As Felix got closer, he heard the prayer Ashe whispered. “Why?” Only that, over and over, a constant refrain. 

Felix clenched his hands. They'd been back for nearly a moon. How many days or nights had Ashe spent this way? 

Felix sat a few pews back. The old wood creaked as he settled, but Ashe's posture didn't change. For a long time, Felix simply watched. The sunlight slipped low, the shadows shifting through the church in a slow spiral tilting toward darkness. Someone paced the edges of the cavernous room, lighting candles that did little to push back the gloom. The footsteps counted the long minutes while Ashe yet sat, Felix still and silent behind him. Ashe's whisper clashed against the steady steps, a scattered sound like rocks thrown at random into a lake, plunking against the quiet, rippling out, then sinking away. 

Eventually, he stopped, the silence stark without his soft prayers. Ashe stood, slowly, painfully. What Felix couldn't read in faces he saw keenly in bodies, and Ashe's body was in pain.

Ashe paused a moment when he stood, seeming to gather himself, to prepare for the motions yet required of that aching body, and then he turned. 

He went stiff when he spotted Felix. 

Ashe recovered, starting toward the aisle between the pews, but Felix rose, easily intercepting him. 

“Wait,” Felix said. 

“Why?” Ashe stood before him, his posture loose but his eyes tight and narrow. 

Felix had no answer. Ashe tried to brush past him and Felix caught his arm. Ashe sucked in a sharp breath. Felix released him instantly. That breath may as well have been a scream. He saw Ashe's whole body go rigid with pain, coiling in on itself. 

“What happened?” Felix said. 

For a moment, Ashe was still, his teeth gritted. Then, horribly, he smiled. “Nothing,” he said.

“Show me,” Felix said. 

Ashe's nauseating smile faded. Felix struggled to remain still with Ashe's eyes on him like a cold, minty breath. 

“OK,” Ashe said. 

He started to undo the front of his school uniform, easing it off of one shoulder to expose his arm. Even in the gloom of the church, Felix could see purple and black splotching Ashe's arm from shoulder to elbow, a storm beaten into his skin. Felix clamped his teeth together, breathing through his nose. 

“How did this happen?” he said.

Ashe snorted a laugh, but it made him flinch. 

“The rest,” Felix said. “Show me.” 

“You really won't quit, will you?” Ashe said. “Always straight ahead, completing your mission.” 

“Yes,” Felix said.

Ashe shrugged. He unfastened the shirt the rest of the way and shrugged out of it. It was all Felix could do not to reel away. The purple-black storm on Ashe's arm seeped across his chest and splattered against his ribs. Yellow fringed the bruises is places; red in others. Ashe's torso was a ghastly sight, a tattered tapestry of hurt. 

“How did this happen?” Felix said again. “Who did this to you? Has Manuela seen this?”

“She healed the broken rib,” Ashe said. “I asked her to leave the rest.”

“Why?” Felix had to clench his fists to keep from grabbing the boy. 

Ashe didn't answer, calmly slipping his shirt back on and refastening the closures. 

“Ashe,” Felix said, “who did this? Please.” 

Ashe's mouth flattened into a thin line.

“It was the townsfolk, wasn't it?” Felix said, and Ashe's mouth pressed even tighter. “Why? Why did they do this to you? You said they were OK.”

The smile returned, twisted like the branches of a gnarled and knotted tree. “I said my siblings would be OK. And they will.” 

“And you?” 

“I suppose we'll see,” Ashe said. He attempted to leave and Felix reached out for him again, stopping himself at the last moment so he didn't grab any of the bruises he now knew lurked beneath Ashe's uniform. 

Ashe paused. “Will you let me go? Or do you plan to make me stay?” 

“I won't force you,” Felix said. “I would only ask you go back to Manuela, get these properly healed. You needn't be in pain all the time.”

“Oh?” Ashe said. 

Felix ground his teeth to keep from responding.

This time, when Ashe passed him, Felix didn't bother stopping him. 

“Chivalry isn't your strong suit, Felix,” Ashe said as he passed. “It's ugly on you. Why don't you stick to the things you're good at? Like killing. You're awfully good at killing.”

Felix clenched his fists, spinning to face Ashe. “You aren't the only one who's lost people,” he shouted at Ashe's back.

Ashe froze, his shoulders going rigid. He was so still Felix wondered at first if he'd even heard him. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, a whisper that reverberated, striking the floor, the walls, the vaulted, faraway ceilings: 

“You didn't have to watch Glenn die.” 

Then he left and Felix was alone in the dark and silence of the echoing church.

#

There were more missions, always more missions. If anyone but Felix thought Ashe seemed odd, they did not say it. When they entered battle, Ashe was one of the first to the field, dispatching the initial rush of enemies with cold accuracy so Felix and the others could sweep in to clean up the fight.

Afterward, Felix often saw Ashe pacing the battlefield, muttering prayers as he retrieved his arrows, each and every one jutting from the body of a fallen foe. 

Felix feared where this path led, what Ashe might become if no one stepped in to intercept him. But no one else seemed to notice, or care. Byleth and Dimitri outright praised Ashe's eerie inability to hit anything but throats and hearts with his arrows. Sylvain and Ingrid were oblivious, caught up in their own quests. And the others seemed to accept Ashe's half-hearted platitudes as genuine. 

Felix hardly blamed them anymore. The whole school had been turned upside down by Edelgard's betrayal in the Holy Tomb only a month prior. Dimitri in particular was still reeling from the revelation, growling like a beast any time anyone mentioned Edelgard and her attempt to steal the crest stones.

Only Felix saw. But Ashe avoided him at every opportunity and outright glared when forced to face him. Those glares stabbed daggers right through Felix's chest, but still he tried, still he reached. It was his blade that had felled Lonato; it had to be Felix who dragged the boy back from whatever brink he stood on. 

Thus, Felix paced down the steps of the dormitories, searching for Ashe's room. He paused outside the door, taking several deep breaths before knocking, gripping the pommel of the sword he always wore at his hip. He knew Ashe would be displeased to see him, but he could not allow this to go on. 

He knocked again, harder. Still, he was met with silence.

“Ashe,” he called. “Please answer. I ... I would speak with you.” 

Silence.

Felix banged on the door, his patience fraying. He rattled the handle and, to his surprise, found it loose. The door creaked open; the room was utterly empty. 

Felix's blood turned to ice. Ashe didn't leave doors unlocked accidentally. 

Felix stepped into the room as though expecting it to collapse around him any moment. It was pristine, so tidy it looked like no one had lived there in years. And on the bed, neatly folded, sat Ashe's academy uniform. 

“Shit,” Felix hissed.

He sprinted from the room, propelled by the sight of that crisp uniform gently set aside. Horribly, he soon found he was not the only one running. Felix shoved past knights and guards, all rushing with the eerie silence of folks only beginning to appreciate an unfolding calamity. 

Felix raced through the dining hall and the courtyards beyond, tore through the great hall with its high chandeliers and past the students idly chatting within. Someone called his name, or perhaps just shouted in surprise; either way, Felix did not slow. 

He reached the marketplace, the bridge between the outside world and the shelter of the monastery within. Here, the chaos thickened. Felix found himself jostled by knights rushing to secure armor. He had to skirt horses dragged along by their riders and monks shouting for information. 

Then he reached the gate. The town of Garreg Mach rolled away, far below the marketplace and the monastery it buffered. And already ablaze. 

The fires started far out, at the distant edges of the town, where storehouses full of grain for the cold days of Lone Moon were kept. But Felix knew they would not stay there. The town was largely thatch and wood; the flames would spread, consuming and destroying until they met the stone of the monastery. 

The screams rose like vultures circling the death unfolding in the city. Felix saw townsfolk running through the streets, saving who and what they could as they fled toward the church. Soldiers at the gates screamed for the doors to open, but it was a slow and cumbersome business. A crowd already pounded at the gate, begging for sanctuary from the carnage within the town. 

Felix ran for the gate. The church would call upon the students soon, but not soon enough. He shoved past the guards laboring to open the doors, squeezing through the narrow opening they'd managed. The crowd pushed against him, a flood trying to force him back inside, but Felix fought his way through, emerging into the burning town. 

Rhea was already outside the gate, flanked by Cyril and Catherine and the Knights of Seiros. She regarded Felix only a moment before she went back to issuing orders.

“Edelgard will split her forces,” Rhea said. “She will attempt to come up the three main thoroughfares and attack on multiple fronts. Do not let her.” 

“Yes, Lady Rhea,” Catherine said, saluting before hurrying off. 

“Cyril,” Rhea said, “you need to take to the sky. Keep me appraised of their movements. Go.”

“Yes, Lady Rhea,” he said, running for his mount. 

“Felix,” Rhea said. “Where is Dimitri?” 

“I don't know,” Felix said. 

“You're here alone?” 

“Yes,” he said. 

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion and Felix rushed to explain. “Ashe was—is—missing. I...”

Her eyes narrowed further, her lip curling in a sneer. “He is among them.”

Felix flinched as though struck. “Among...”

Rhea jabbed her finger toward the burning town. “He fights for Edelgard.” 

Felix clenched his teeth. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong. But she wasn't. He'd known it the moment he'd seen that uniform folded and left behind. 

“You know him,” Rhea said. “Stop him.” 

“I will,” Felix said. He unsheathed his sword. 

Felix started away from the gates, descending toward the city, flames filling his vision as the homes and shops and inns of Garreg Mach swallowed him. It was like stepping into a nightmare, a twisted and mangled facsimile of reality. 

At first, he encountered only townsfolk. They startled before they recognized his uniform. He sent them toward the monastery for refuge. 

Soon, soldiers replaced civilians. Rhea's soldiers, in large part, prowling the streets like hunters stalking prey. 

A gout of magic crashed into the paving stones near Felix's feet. He was thrown back, skidding across the ground from the impact of the blow. When Felix crawled back to his feet, he found several soldiers dead; others shrieking at missing limbs and grievous injuries. But the mage was nowhere to be found. 

A knight shouted for help dragging the wounded away from the battle but Felix ignored them, running in the direction the magic had struck from. He would find Edelgard's gods damned mages. And he would find Ashe, too. 

He rushed around a half-collapsed building and encountered ... nothing. An empty lane. Not a mage or a soldier in sight. 

Felix pushed on. They could not hide indefinitely, not if they meant to take the monastery. 

The smoke thickened, sweet with the scent of the wood cut and cured to construct the town. Waves of heat rolled off the flames crowding in. One wrong turn could place Felix in a lane of fire he couldn't escape from. Still, he pushed, covering his nose and mouth with his shirt, scanning the shifting gray for a flicker of silver. 

_Please, Ashe._ He might have prayed, but he didn't know who to plead with aside from Ashe himself. 

Around the side of a house struggling not to crumble, Felix encountered a trio of mages dressed in the red of the empire's soldiers—Edelgard's soldiers, now. 

The first did not see Felix before she died. The other two had time to scream and jerk away, readying their magic. Felix had to dodge behind the tottering building. Magic flashed past, bright bursts of color among all the orange and gray. He counted. They fired again. Felix rushed out, hoping three seconds was enough. 

It brought him to one of the mages, a man who pointed his hand at Felix but managed to produce nothing more than a spark before Felix cut him down. 

The other mage had time enough to hurl a ball of purple and black at Felix. He spun, but it caught him on the thigh, tearing through cloth and flesh. Blood rolled down his leg from a wound instantly gaping and ragged. Felix grit his teeth as he weighted the injured leg and brought his sword down on the mage. 

Then he was alone again and the pain had time to hit him. Felix tried to walk, but the magic had torn a hole in his body, leaving a gushing gap where there should have been skin. He planted his sword in the ground and tried to use it as a sort of cane, but got only a step before he had to sink down to his knees. He was exposed, bleeding and alone, and the only thing he could do about it was address the wound as quickly as possible.

Felix tore off the leg of his pants below the wound, ripping it along the seam to create a long scrap that he tied around the injury. The blood soaked the fabric immediately, but he pressed, gritting back a scream as he applied pressure. His hands were dark with his own blood, his leg quivering as he pushed on it. 

He sat back, sweating, and used his sword to awkwardly cut his other pant leg and create a second strip. The wound yet wept, but the second wrap seemed to staunch the worst of it. He wouldn't bleed out, but he couldn't run anymore. 

Felix had to lean on his sword to get back to his feet. He limped away from the unsteady building, away from the worst of the flames and the bodies of the mages he'd killed. Faint battle sounds whispered under the throaty chuffs of the fire. His only lifeline, his only guidepost, was the church, hazy behind a curtain of smoke. 

An arrow struck the building beside him, inches from Felix's shoulder. He froze, but a second bolt never came. 

“Felix.” 

He turned, slowly, awkwardly, and found Ashe behind him. He had an arrow nocked, pointed at Felix's heart, but he eased the tension on his bowstring when Felix faced him. Ashe wore red now, red pants, a red jacket with gold insignia, even a red quiver.

“How did you know?” Ashe said.

“Your uniform,” Felix said. 

Ashe smiled. “I thought you might find that. You always watched me more closely than the others.”

Felix just nodded. 

Ashe tilted his head to the side as though evaluating Felix, his torn pants, the blood on his hands and sword, the hasty bandage around his thigh. “They got you, huh?” 

Felix didn't bother answering. “Ashe, come back. You don't need to do this.” 

“I made a choice,” Ashe said. “I gave them my word.” 

“You gave us your word, too.”

Ashe shook his head. “I was a child when I joined Dimitri. I didn't know anything.” 

“Do you really believe this is what Lonato would want?” Felix said.

Ashe's face contorted, bunching up in rage. He pulled the arrow back against the string, aiming the head at Felix. “How dare you? You, of all people.” 

And Felix saw that he was truly gone, truly beyond reach. Ashe's face was so twisted with anger, with hurt, that it was hardly recognizable. His freckles weren't an endearing smattering but small wounds dug into his skin one by one. Felix knew they trickled down his body, spreading over his neck, his back, his heart, poking a hundred, thousand, million little holes into Ashe until nothing but pain remained. 

Felix did not move or flinch or cower. There would be no point. If Ashe really killed him here, at least he'd have one moment of peace, Felix thought. Perhaps one of those tiny punctures would close up and heal. Felix could give him that. 

But he never got the chance. Someone turned the corner, gasping, throwing up a wall of wind between Ashe and Felix. 

Annette tugged on Felix's arm. “What is this? What's going on here? Why is he aiming at you?”

Ashe did not respond; Felix could not. Ashe lowered his arrow, meeting Felix's eyes only a moment longer before he turned and left with no particular hurry to his step. 

“Where is he going?” Annette said, but the hushed quality of her voice belied her ignorance. “Felix.” 

“We should go,” Felix said. He turned away from where Ashe had stood. “Where are the others?”

“They're fleeing,” Annette said. “We can't hold the gate. Everyone's just tying to escape.” 

The news struck Felix in place of Ashe's arrow. “Fleeing?” 

“It's over,” Annette said. “We have to run. Please. I don't want to lose you, too.” 

He nodded, but when they started out she noticed his limp. Annette could stop the bleeding, soothe the ache, but she didn't have the ability to truly heal the wound. So Felix limped beside her, doing his best to jog as she led him through the crumbling town. 

Overhead, a shadow blocked out the sun. Felix watched it shift, solidifying into a massive, winged beast. Its shriek shook the air, forcing Felix and Annette to stop and cover their ears. 

“It's Rhea,” Annette said when they could hear again. Still, the reverberations of that torn cry echoed in Felix's chest. 

He did not ask how or why. Nothing was too incredible anymore. 

Felix and Annette stumbled through the town, rushing past flames, stepping over bodies, skirting hopeless battles still playing out in the streets. He tried not to think about Ashe, wherever he was, whatever he aimed to do next. He couldn't dwell on it. Ashe was on his own path now, a path carved by pain, a path burned through this town and slashed into the bodies strewn across the paving stones. Felix had tried to stand in the way, stem the flow. He'd offered Ashe all he had, his very life, but Ashe hadn't taken it. Felix feared the price he'd eventually exact would prove far worse.

They reached the edge of the town and Annette pointed at a copse of trees. Hopefully, they could escape, go unnoticed and regroup with whomever still lived.

Overhead, Rhea was screaming, crying out in a voice that shook the very blades of grass covering the hillsides. 

She was dying. 

And Garreg Mach was dying with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Join the [Ashelix discord](https://discord.gg/cjFuCx) to hear my incoherent screeching about my beloved rarepair!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe works with Edelgard and the Empire to seize the city of Arianrhod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for AsheWeek2020! Chapter 1 was Felix Week; chapter 2 is Ashe Week. Prompt: "loss."

“Ashe, relax.”

Ashe kept picking at the tangled silver hair before him. “It wouldn't be so knotted if you took care of it,” he said. 

Rowan huffed. He sat in a chair, Ashe behind him wielding a brush. Fina laughed at him from the bed, brushing her long hair herself. 

“We're not little kids anymore,” Fina said. “You shouldn't need your brother to brush your hair.”

“I don't _need_ him to,” Rowan insisted. 

“Well, you weren't gonna do it on your own,” Fina jabbed.

“Enough,” Ashe said. “I don't have long today.”

The teens sobered. 

“Another meeting?” Fina said.

Ashe just nodded. 

“Is there going to be a battle?” Rowan said. 

Ashe could not miss the note of worry tightening the boy's voice. It gripped Ashe's heart like a vice. When he was Rowan's age, he was already a killer, fighting alongside the Blue Lions. But Ashe had done everything in his power to ensure his siblings weren't like him, weren't soldiers, weren't murderers. He'd made Edelgard promise that they'd be sheltered from the worst of the war, that they wouldn't be trained to fight like him. 

So far, she'd kept her word. But war was never far off. Ashe feared the day it pounded at the doors of the reclaimed monastery once again. 

“Ashe?” Fina said.

He shook himself. “There is always another battle,” he said. His siblings both lowered their heads a little. “But it is far away.”

“Then you'll have to leave,” Rowan said.

Ashe nodded. “For a little while.”

None of them spoke the fear that filled the air then, none of them dared to name it. 

“I'll come back,” Ashe said. “I always come back.”

They did not respond. 

He finished untangling Rowan's mop of silver hair, then set the brush aside. He could feel the teens watching him as he gathered his things, buttoned up his coat, belted his quiver around his hips.

“Why do you wear armor to meetings?” Fina said. 

Ashe approached the bed where she sat, mussing her hair, trying to smile. “Stay here. I'll be back in a few hours. I'll bring dinner. OK?”

“Ashe...” 

“Be good,” he said.

He left them there in a dorm that had once belonged to Dedue, a room right beside his own. Ashe dared not reminisce about the former occupant of that room. There were rumors about Dedue, and even more about Dimitri. The fate of both, of either, was unpleasant by the most optimistic accounts. 

Ashe shook himself, but it was difficult to forget the gentle hands that had so carefully tended the monastery's gardens as he passed the greenhouse. Ashe had sometimes joined Dedue, enjoying the quiet, the peace. 

It had been a long time since Ashe had enjoyed peace. 

In truth, the moment Felix killed Lonato, any hope of peace was shattered. 

_“You lent me this,” Felix had since once, lifetimes ago, offering Ashe a book._

_“I'm guessing you hated it?” Ashe said._

_“No,” Felix said. “Actually, I already knew the story. My brother used to read it to me all the time.”_

_And Ashe had understood. Lonato was not yet dead, but Christophe was._

_Ashe did not say he was sorry. He did not try to apologize over the pain. Instead, he nodded. “Thank you for reading it.”_

_Felix shifted, off guard, uncomfortable. His jaw tightened as he wrangled emotions._

_And Ashe had understood even more. Understood and, despite the circumstances, felt his whole chest tighten around the revelation, press it against his heart to savor it._

How foolish he'd been, being charmed in the midst of death.

#

“Ashe.”

He startled. Edelgard narrowed her eyes. “Did you hear me?”

He blinked, dragging himself out of reveries, useless, childish wanderings. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“The next place we must focus our attention on is Arianrhod,” Edelgard said. “Dimitri thinks he's hidden Cornelia there, but he has no idea who she really is. They won't expect us. We can strike quickly and decisively and take the Fortress City before they even realize we're there.” 

“Surely, they will not let us succeed so easily,” Ferdinand said. 

He was seated at a long table, as were the rest of the former Black Eagles. Ashe felt conspicuous among them, the only member of a different house who'd left with Edelgard. 

Only Hubert stood, maintaining his customary position at Edelgard's shoulder, perched behind her chair like a crow. “They will not,” he said, “if they know we're coming. But my spies are unified in their assertion that Dimitri is completely ignorant of our plans.”

“What if he isn't?” Ferdinand said. 

“He is,” Hubert said. 

“Enough,” Edelgard said. She was far from the only one tired of her aids' flirtatious barbs. “We proceed as though Dimitri is ignorant, though of course our plans will include contingencies in the unlikely event von Vestra's spies are mistaken.

“Now, as regards those plans.” Edelgard looked down the expanse of the table, directly at Ashe. He struggled not to squirm. “We need to know everything we can about Dimitri and his allies before Arianrhod. Fortunately, we have an expert.”

Every one of Edelgard's generals and advisors turned to Ashe. He steeled himself, facing them. He'd known the moment he'd decided to accept Edelgard's proposal more than five years ago that this request would come, that this was precisely why Edelgard had sought him out in the first place. She'd probably tried to take one of Claude's people as well, but they'd remained loyal. Only Ashe had heard Edelgard's plans, her dream of a Fodlan without crests, without rank, without the church, and followed. 

Even now, he did not regret it. Even when he faced former allies, even when he gazed across a battlefield and recognized the faces on the other side, even when he leveled his arrows at former friends. Even when he killed them. Lysithea had been the first, but Ashe thought, Ashe _hoped_ , she would not be the last. Somewhere out there, the likes of Catherine, of Rhea, of Felix, waited for him. 

He drew himself up. “Let's get started then,” he said. 

He told them all he knew about how Dimitri's most trusted allies would fight, told them about how Sylvain was always too reckless and eager, how Annette tended to focus in on ground troops and lose sight of the bigger picture, how Ingrid often failed to check her flank for archers. He told them how Felix tended to wander off alone, sometimes without even intending to, and how magic often caught him off balance. 

“It has been more than five years,” Dorothea said when he'd finished. “Are you sure this all holds true?”

“They'll still be the same,” Ashe said. “He'll still be the same.”

Edelgard eyed him from the other end of the table. “He?”

“Felix Fraldarius,” Ashe said. 

“What of the others, though?” Edelgard said.

“You don't need to worry about the others,” Ashe said. “Even if they've changed or adapted, you'll be able to handle them. Felix is the one you need to stop if you want to avoid a slaughter.”

“Can you do it?” Edelgard said. “Can you stop him?” 

Ashe considered this. Five years ago, when they'd taken the monastery, Ashe had let him go, deliberately sending his arrow wide. A final bit of nostalgia, perhaps. 

That was long gone, anything he might once have felt washed clean by time and distance. Now, he had only a single memory of Felix, that of his blade dripping with Lonato's blood. 

“Yes,” he said. “I can do it.”

#

The white walls of the Silver Maiden loomed before them. The sky was a gray sheet skittering low overhead. It made the sprawl of Arianrhod feel close and claustrophobic, even behind those high white walls.

Ashe waited on foot, his bow already strung and in his hand. Hubert glared over at him.

“Are you ready?” Hubert said.

Ashe nodded. 

Hubert's scowl deepened. Even after five years, Ashe knew Hubert didn't fully trust him, likely never would. Ashe didn't care. He wasn't here for Hubert; he was here for himself, for an end to the system that had placed him before Lonato's lance all those years ago, the system that had ultimately led to Lonato's death. 

Hubert looked past him, toward the main gates of the city where the rest of their forces lined up, tall atop their horses, lances and banners drawing their enemies' gazes. 

“Come on, then,” Hubert said. 

He led the way toward the eastern gate of the city, a small side entrance less well-defended than the main gate where the bulk of the imperial forces advanced. A flick of Hubert's wrist saw two soldiers neatly dispatched. An arrow from Ashe took care of a third.

Hubert glanced over his shoulder at the soldier Ashe had shot. He'd been approaching from Hubert's side, undetected by the mage.

“Well,” Hubert said. And that was all.

Ashe picked the lock on the door and they crept into the gatehouse. Hubert did not even slow once they made it inside, bounding up a twisting stairwell.

They emerged atop the ramparts, crouching in the place where the stone met the wood of the gatehouse door. Soldiers ran past, presumably toward the main gate, now under assault by Edelgard and her troops. 

They waited. Ashe could see little past Hubert's crouching form. It made no difference. Eventually, Hubert would give the word and he'd fight, as he had so many times, as he likely would until he died, cutting a trail toward his salvation. Or, perhaps, just cutting a trail because it felt like salvation. 

Hubert rushed out of the gatehouse and Ashe sprinted after him. They remained low, picking off enemies before the unfortunate soldiers even realized their doom approached. 

Finally, they reached their target, a large mechanism, a lever protruding from between enormous gears. 

“Get it working,” Hubert said. 

Ashe bent to the task, examining the contraption that would disarm the city's defenses and allow Edelgard to push past the gates. Hubert stood over him, scanning for danger, or, more likely, scanning for Edelgard, ensuring his lady yet lived. 

“Shit,” Hubert hissed.

He ducked down beside Ashe. “Have you got it yet?”

“No,” Ashe said flatly.

“Well, do it. Quickly.”

Ashe grit his teeth, not bothering to respond. He knew Hubert was eager to stand guard over his charge, her ever-present shadow, but untangling a device this complex took more than a couple seconds with a lockpick. Ashe hated that Hubert and Edelgard knew he could do this, hated that they'd pried this old, shameful skill out of him and forced him to use it again, but if it brought them the victory they all desired, he'd stoop to it. If Hubert allowed.

As it was, the mage was growling under his breath, shooting Ashe impatient looks. 

“I can't go any faster,” Ashe snapped. “It's not that simple.”

“Our deaths will be simple if you do not hurry,” Hubert said. “They have ... machines. I've never seen the like.” 

The note of genuine awe in Hubert's voice drew Ashe's attention away from his task. He saw something lumbering through the city, impossibly large, shambling like a puppet, a puppet so massive the goddess herself would need to pull the strings from the heavens. The metal machine moved like a person but towered taller than the city's houses, taller than the wall upon which Ashe and Hubert hid. 

“Goddess, what is that thing?” Ashe said.

“Our doom, if you don't disarm that trap.” 

Ashe bit back a retort and set about his work with renewed urgency. It was clear enough how he'd disarm the trap, it was just a matter of doing it, plucking it apart one string at a time, like undoing a blanket's weave. But this blanket held the fate of the entire Empire. 

“Done,” Ashe said as the device clicked.

Hubert wasted no time. He and Ashe yanked on the freed lever, pulling until they were rewarded with a clang. The spikes jutting through the ground at the main gate of Arianrhod receded. Edelgard's army let out a cheer. 

Ashe stood in time to see them charging, Ferdinand in the lead atop his destrier, fiery hair flowing past his shoulders. The city's defenders cried out in alarm even as Edelgard's army shouted with vigor. Edelgard was poised to sweep the city and push right through to Cornelia, even with those metal dolls lumbering around. 

Ashe and Hubert raced to join their comrades. As they slipped along the ramparts, as yet unnoticed, Hubert's gaze fixed on Edelgard and Ferdinand fighting below. Ashe would have laughed if he dared; for all his snarling, Hubert was just as soft as the rest of them, just as attached. It would be easy to hurt him, should Ashe ever need to.

They rose, abandoning concealment. Hubert hurled magic into the throng of soldiers below while Ashe took aim. They were horribly exposed, ridiculously compromised, but neither of them cared. Ashe shot until his quiver ran low, then leapt down into the fray to yank bolts from the bodies and reuse them.

“Hubert,” Edelgard called. “Take Dorothea. Get those dolls out of our path.”

“Yes, my lady.” 

“I'll go, too,” Ferdinand said. 

“No,” Edelgard said. “You're needed here. Keep pushing back their lines.”

“But--”

“You must create a space for Hubert and Dorothea. Keep the soldiers off them.”

Ashe struggled not to sneer. So very soft. 

He saved his arrows, prying a lance out of a dead woman's hand and wading into the fighting. The weapon was unwieldy, but he was competent enough with it. It didn't take much to be competent at killing in close quarters, he'd found. Mostly, it just took a willingness to perform the deed. 

A burst of light flared as he cut down one of the city's defenders. He saw a metal doll stutter, then tip slowly to one side. When it crashed to the ground, metal sprayed up like a splash of blood. The ground shook from the impact, the rumble echoed by the cheer of Edelgard's troops. 

The emperor herself swept past him, charging through the opening her mages had created. There were more dolls, but they were farther away and moving slowly. If the Empire's army continued up the eastern side of the city, they'd reach Cornelia well before the dolls reached them. And even if they didn't, they now knew how to take the machines down. 

The city's final defense had cracked.

Yet even as they spotted their prey, even as Edelgard spurred her house on toward the pink-haired woman flinging magic their way, Cornelia's last barrier of protection moved into place. 

Ashe wasn't far behind Edelgard. He saw the emperor yank on her horse's reins to halt it. Two men stood between her and Cornelia. As Ashe drew near, he saw the icy blue of Fraldarius in their garb. 

Rodrigue sat atop his horse, magic sizzling in one hand, sword clutched in the other. And beside him stood Felix. 

Ashe reached for his arrows. They hadn't yet noticed him, not with Edelgard glaring them down. Ashe ducked low, abandoned the spear, held an arrow loose against the string of his bow. 

“I am the king's shield, devoted to protecting the Kingdom, as well as the king's lance, who kills his foes,” Rodrigue said. “In the name of House Fraldarius, I will defeat you all.” 

Edelgard sneered. “All I see is a dog on a leash. Obedient to the last. Where are your comrades? Have they left you here to die? It will be the end of the Fraldarius line, all in service to your precious king.”

“It would be an honor to die for our king,” Rodrigue said. “But we will not be defeated here today. Felix, prepare yourself, son.” 

Felix set his feet, readied his sword. Ashe could see the grimace twisting his face. His hair was a little longer, his eyes slightly more tired, but otherwise he'd changed little in five years. Still obedient. Still frowning at the world but doing nothing to change it. 

Fraldarius soldiers fanned out behind father and son. When Edelgard ordered the attack, the two forces raced toward each other. Edelgard held back, allowing the likes of Ferdinand and Petra to run to the front lines, but Rodrigue and Felix both charged straight in, meeting Edelgard's army head on. 

Ashe hid off to the side, still unnoticed, overlooked as always. He'd learned to turn it to his advantage over the years. Everyone's eyes seemed to slide off him. 

He managed to find a position to the side of the battle, an alcove from which he could shoot, sending his arrows between the battlelines to pick off Fraldarius soldiers in blue. 

The enemy charge faltered; their numbers dwindled. Still, Rodrigue and Felix fought on. It was clear to all that they were there to die, that the city would fall only when the Fraldarius line ended, bleeding out on the stone battlements. 

Before then, however, they tore through Edelgard's troops. Even as the numbers started to skew against them, Rodrigue and Felix brought death with every sweep of their swords. Rodrigue's free hand started to glow. Ashe caught on to it too late, but Dorothea did not. 

Her eyes went wide. She dove at Edelgard's horse, throwing up something, anything that might deflect the blow. 

The aura landed in a blinding flash of white. Ashe had to cover his eyes. When he could finally see again, blinking around tears, Dorothea lay on the stone, writhing, bloody, her body burned by the magic.

Time slowed. Edelgard froze, her eyes widening as she wheeled atop her horse to gape at Dorothea. The entire battle seemed to stutter, to stall, as the awful reality of the moment set in.

_Soft._

Ashe stepped from his cover, exposed but as yet unremarked. With both sides momentarily stunned, Ashe had a clear path to Rodrigue. 

Felix saw him.

Their eyes met for a moment. Felix's mouth dropped open in a gasp. Ashe pulled his hand back to his cheek, holding the arrow against the taut string. Ashe could see the dawning horror in Felix's eyes, the slow seep of terrible realization. He wondered, distantly, if that's how he'd looked in the moment before Lonato died. 

He let go. The arrow shot through the air. Rodrigue's eyes went wide as the bolt pierced his throat. His mouth groped uselessly for words. And the Duke of Fraldarius toppled off his horse, dead. 

Ashe might have expected Felix to scream, to charge, perhaps even to fling magic at him. But Edelgard was quicker. She used the moment to rally her troops. They surged over the dead duke and harried his scattered forces. 

Ashe lagged behind. By the time Edelgard's army swept past, Felix was gone.

#

They killed Cornelia and took the city. It was a simple matter, in the end. Dimitri clearly hadn't expected the main force of Edelgard's army. He'd left only Rodrigue and a few other knights to defend Arianrhod, along with Cornelia and her dolls.

Now, the city belonged to Edelgard. 

She stayed only long enough to settle matters there. Then, she marched most of them back to Garreg Mach, leaving behind a few battalions. 

Dorothea had to be carried back, burned, broken, senseless with pain. Edelgard did not speak of the woman. Not while they were on the road. Not with so much left to do. Ashe suspected she was trying to push aside the grim possibility of Dorothea dying during their journey, but he could feel little sympathy. They all had someone to mourn, to fear for. 

They noticed Felix following them on their fourth day back toward the monastery.

“Shall I take care of it?” Hubert said. 

Edelgard sighed as though the man hunting them was a mere pest. “Take Ferdinand with you, just in case.”

“No.” They snapped toward Ashe when he rode up beside them. “I'll go.”

Edelgard raised an eyebrow; Hubert grimaced. 

“It's what I'm here for, isn't it?” he said. 

“So it is,” Edelgard said.

“Lady E--”

She held up a hand and Hubert fell silent. “Go,” she said.

Ashe nodded, wheeling his horse around before Hubert could put up any further protest. Few bothered to take notice as he rode against the flow of the long line of troops winding toward the capital. 

Soon, he was alone. He suspected he would not remain that way for long. 

Ashe waited atop his horse, not bothering to conceal himself. He sat right there on the road, watching the clouds waft by, watching the sun dip low, splashing the sky with a crimson blush like spilled wine. 

And finally, he appeared, stalking up the road like a beast with a scent. 

Felix looked ragged, his hair coming lose from his bun, blood still smeared on his fine clothing. He hadn't even bothered to sheathe his sword, apparently walking with it clutched in his hand for days. He stopped when he saw Ashe, hatred bunching up his face. 

Ashe hopped down from his horse. He freed a spear from the saddle, planting it beside him as he faced Felix.

“What are you doing?” Felix said.

“It'll be unfair if I keep the horse, don't you think?” 

Felix grimaced. Ashe could see his jaw go tight as he ground his teeth. 

“That's a nasty habit,” Ashe said. “You'll wear them down to nothing.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Tch.” Ashe felt an ugly smile curl his mouth. “After all this time, that's all you have to say?”

“Why did you kill him?” Leather squealed as Felix tightened his grip on the sword's hilt. 

“It's war.” Ashe shrugged. “I had to. What was it Dimitri used to say? 'We did what had to be done.' Wouldn't you agree? Don't tell me all that killing was for nothing.”

Felix did not respond this time, but Ashe could see his nostrils flaring as he attempted to calm himself, to center. 

“Prepare yourself,” he said coolly. 

Ashe raised his spear. 

Felix took that as an invitation. He barreled at Ashe. The gap in skill should have been devastating, but Felix was angry, reckless. And Ashe. Ashe felt nothing at all. 

He parried Felix's blade, dancing backward on nimble feet, keeping the swordsman from getting in range. The moment Felix got past that spear, it was over. Yet Ashe felt little fear. He'd given that up long ago. If Felix won the fight, he'd deserve his reward.

Felix struck Ashe's spear so hard the blow rang in Ashe's hands and shivered down his arms. Felix dodged from side to side, using his speed to full advantage. But he was too angry. That had always been Felix's problem: For all his talk, when something like anger had him, it took over his whole mind. He was as good as senseless; Ashe may as well have been fending off a wild animal. That rage left him blind.

It also left him exposed.

Ashe let Felix's blade slide along the spear, pushing the tip harmlessly aside but allowing Felix to step into range. Triumph flashed across Felix's face. Then Ashe brought his foot up, kicking it straight into Felix's gut, letting the swordsman's own momentum aid the blow.

Felix gasped out a breath and stumbled back, his arm around his middle as he wheezed. Ashe could have ended it then, could have driven his spear forward while Felix struggled to regain his feet, but that's when his own farcical calm broke. The years hit him all at once and he lunged forward, throwing aside his spear, grabbing Felix by the front of his jacket and headbutting him with a crack.

Ashe saw stars. His head throbbed instantly. Still, he didn't let go. He grit his teeth, clinging to Felix, trying to blink the spots of light out of his vision so he could strike the man again.

Felix recovered quicker. He could have run Ashe through, but he, too, tossed his weapon to the ground.

They toppled to the dirt, driven there by Felix's attempt to charge at Ashe. There they rolled and wrestled, grappling for anything they could reach. Ashe pulled Felix's hair; Felix got a hand on Ashe's throat. Something struck the side of Ashe's head. He tasted blood, but didn't stop swinging. He heard a grunt, felt Felix recoil before coming right back for more. 

The swordsman was tired from days of walking, and likely weak from lack of food. Ashe managed to roll them over, to get on top of the other man and pin his arms down. Felix kicked, but Ashe sat firmly atop him, leveraging his weight to keep Felix down. They were a similar size now, but that didn't count for much when one fighter was ragged with hunger and fatigue and rage. 

Felix spit at him. Ashe laughed when it struck him, laughed straight down into that enraged, twisted up face, laughed at those burning amber eyes. 

“Fuck you,” Felix hissed.

“You would have, once.” 

That shut him up.

“You think I didn't notice?” Ashe said. “You're so obvious. I knew before you did, probably.”

“Who cares? It's over.” His lip was swollen. Blood darkened his blue-black hair. Still he managed to look so gods damned self-righteous. 

Ashe sneered. “Yeah, I guess it is.” 

“Why?”

Ashe heard an echo of his own voice in that one word, that plaintive cry. Holy, sacred and hopeless. The chain binding one to the other. 

The sound of his own prayers (“why? why? why?” chanted at the peaked roof of the church like a hymn) only served to harden his heart.

“We're even now, aren't we?” Ashe said.

Ashe expected more anger, but Felix went still, terribly still. He snorted a laugh. “Guess we are.”

Then the knife dug into Ashe's thigh. 

He heard himself scream, distantly, through a haze of searing pain. 

Felix yanked the knife out, preparing for another strike. Ashe forced himself to respond, forced himself to put aside the agony for long enough to put all his weight against the hand holding the knife so it couldn't wriggle free a second time. Felix tried to use his free arm to grab, but Ashe brought up his knee, smashing it against Felix's face. He got a garbled shout in return. Blood poured from Felix's nose and into his mouth.

They rolled apart, each nursing their own wound. Ashe pressed against the fire in his thigh. His hands came away quivering and crimson. Some part of his brain screamed at him to find some way to stop the bleeding and dress the damn gash, but he had nothing. His horse had skittered away when the fighting started and now watched him warily from well off the roadside. 

Ashe could hear Felix struggling to his feet. Ashe clambered up, or tried to. Putting weight on his injured leg brought a fresh wave of agony that sent him back to his knees. 

Felix stumbled to him, standing over Ashe. Blood dripped down his face from his broken nose. He reached for Ashe, getting a bloody hand into his hair. Ashe swatted at him. Felix dodged back. He pulled Ashe's hair as he went, but Ashe still got a hand on his ankle and brought him back down to the dusty road. 

Felix grunted as he hit the ground. Ashe clambered over him, dragging his bad leg. Felix spat blood at him. Ashe felt it splatter his face, turning his freckles red. Felix clearly had little other challenge to offer. He barely tried to fight it as Ashe sat on him again, pinning his arms high this time so he couldn't find another sneaky knife. 

“You stupid asshole,” Ashe said. 

“I'm not the one who came back for a one-on-one fight when I could have brought an army,” Felix said.

“It wouldn't have stopped you,” Ashe said.

“You're right,” Felix said with a red grin. “It wouldn't have.” He gave a feeble jerk, but even injured Ashe was able to keep him down. “Let me go so we can finish this.” 

“And then what? Do you think it'll end here? That we can just kill each other and let that be that?”

If Felix had been about to answer, he never managed to. He was looking past Ashe now, his eyes wide, his face pale as death itself. If it was anyone else, Ashe might have believed it was a ruse, but Felix Fraldarius had never had any talent for artifice.

“How?” he said. 

Ashe started to turn, but before he could manage it, something covered his eyes. Rough hands dragged him away, bound his wrists, gagged him to muffle his screams. 

The world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously this one is going to continue! I have an outline that currently calls for 11 chapters for this story. Originally, they were just going to kill each other at the end of this chapter and that was that, but I have more interesting things in store for them now... 
> 
> **Next time: Familiar? faces. Who has captured Ashe and Felix?**
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Join the [Ashelix discord](https://discord.gg/cjFuCx) to hear my incoherent screeching about my beloved rarepair! (Ask me for link if it's expired!)


	3. The Tragedy of Duscar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix knows his captor. And he is not happy to see him. 
> 
> But the captor has a story. A true story. About the Tragedy of Duscar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FE Siblings Week's prompt for today is "memories," which weirdly suits this chapter. I in no way planned that.

“How?” Felix said. The word felt etched onto his tongue. 

He got no response. He was left in the dark, literally as well as figuratively due to the blindfold over his eyes. 

“Take this thing off,” Felix said. “What do you think you're accomplishing?” 

The person gripping his arm shook him a little. Felix longed to strike back, but his hands were bound behind him. Plus, the brawl with Ashe had left him so beaten and bruised he had to bite down on a groan from even that small jerk from his captor. 

Ashe was not faring much better. He sucked in a sharp breath after another shake. Felix could hear him limping from the stab wound in his thigh. 

“You're a bastard, you know that?” Felix said. “A coward and a bastard.”

Their captor laughed. “That so?”

“Yes. And the moment you turn your back I'm going to break these restraints and--”

“Felix.” 

Another shove. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

He did, but more because anger tightened his jaw than because he had nothing else to say.

They were headed downhill. Well off the road, judging from the tangle of grass and sticks and foliage grabbing at Felix's ankles. It was a tolerable, if annoying, journey for Felix, but for Ashe... Perhaps the blindfold sharpened Felix’s hearing because he swore he heard a sharp inhale accompanying every step Ashe took.

The ground got harder, smoother. The air shifted. It felt close and cool now. The temperature dropped. He and Ashe’s captor forced them both to sit. Felix felt cold stone beneath him and against his back.

Their captor did something to Ashe and Felix heard a gasp. Then that single word again: “How?” 

Felix’s blindfold came off next. 

“Fuck you,” he said.

“Nice to see you too, brother.”

Felix spit, but Glenn nimbly danced back. Ashe looked pale, whether from shock or pain or both, Felix wasn’t sure. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Felix said. “How are you here? What is this?” 

Glenn stood over both of them, hands on his hips. He looked much as Felix remembered. His wavy hair, black where Felix’s tended toward blue, just brushed his shoulders, scraggly and unkempt. He was still taller than Felix, though not by as much as the last time the brothers had seen each other. And he still had Rodrigue’s eyes, sharp and blue as the winter sky in Fraldarius. 

Glenn sighed, sitting on a rock a few feet from his still-bound captives. “I suppose you’re angry,” he said.

“Yes, I’m fucking angry,” Felix said. Angry didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Well, I can’t blame you,” Glenn said. “But while we wait, perhaps you’ll let me explain?” 

“Wait for what?” 

Glenn glanced toward the mouth of the cave. Sun yet filtered through the forest beyond. “It’ll be a while yet. We have time.” He looked back at Felix and Ashe, seeming to weigh them. “You both need healing but, sadly, that’s outside my expertise. The Fraldarius knightly education never really bothered much with healing arts, eh?” 

Felix remembered the blood all over his face, his broken nose, the many bumps, scrapes, bruises and cuts Ashe had inflicted during their fight. He’d hardly had time to care about them, between seeking vengeance for one dead relative and discovering a different one had never died at all. 

“I’ll tell you a story,” Glenn said. “It’ll keep your minds off the pain while we wait.”

“Never cared for stories,” Felix said.

“Oh, come on, Felix. It’ll be like when you were little and I read to you before bed. Except this story is true. And it starts on the day you believe I died.”

#

There _was_ an attack that day. That much was true. 

But it didn’t come from Duscar.

Glenn saw the envoy from Duscar ahead. On time and exactly where expected. It was bittersweet, in a way, knowing this first mission as a knight, this first taste of honor and duty and all the things he’d only heard about, would soon be over. The trip home would surely be even less momentous than the trip out to Duscar. A few days of meetings Glenn would take no part in, then days and days of dusty, quiet road.

If only he’d known. If only he could go back and tell himself not to begrudge the stillness of monotonous paths winding quietly through trees and over the gentle sway of languid hills. 

The attack came from behind. Glenn didn’t know where, exactly. By the time he spun, the king’s carriage was already under assault, flames licking up the wood. The screams began immediately, challenged only by the rush of fresh flame consuming everything in its path. 

Glenn unsheathed his sword, but he did not know where to point it. The envoy from Duscar rushed forward, weapons drawn. He traced their path and there, at last, he spotted the mages. They were blots of deeper shadow among the mottled green and black of the tree cover. Only when one hurled another bolt of fire at the royal carriage did Glenn see them lit up and stark among the foliage. 

He didn’t have time to ponder who they were, what they were doing, why any of this was happening. They were far, much too far for him to reach quickly. But the king’s carriage was close. 

Glenn sprinted to it, but hesitated a step away, rebuffed by the heat of the flames climbing up the wood. He reached, trying to open the carriage door, but the fire was too hot to penetrate. 

Glenn raced to the other side of the carriage. The situation was little better. And now he could hear the shouts within. They were trapped, burning alive – the king and his son, and heir, were dying before his very eyes in horrendously cruel fashion. Merciful gods, why was no one but Glenn trying to help?

He turned, searching for aid among the other knights. He found no one, no one at all. 

Then a man rushed at him, sword brandished. 

Glenn reacted on pure instinct; only a lifetime of training allowed him to turn his foe’s blade aside and cut the man down. 

Glenn blinked at the soldier on the ground. He wore the blue of Blaiddyd, the blue of the king’s own retinue. 

Despite the proximity of the awful flames, cold seeped through Glenn. Suddenly, the scene around him crystallized into horrific clarity. There was no one, no one to help him, no one to try to save the king. 

No one but him. 

The rest of the king’s entourage were fighting the envoy from Duscar, fighting to aid the mages who’d set the royal carriage alight in the first place. 

Someone rushed at Glenn and he raised his sword. But it was only a boy, a little boy from Duscar with large, sad eyes and a shock of white hair. The boy didn’t even heed Glenn; he rushed right for the carriage, yanking at the door despite the fire. 

The window of the carriage shattered. Glenn could just make out the frantic voice within: “Save him.”

Then a child was passed through the window. The boy from Duscar accepted the precious package, cradled the king’s son against him, though he was hardly larger than the other boy. Then he started to flee.

Glenn ran to keep up. “Give him to me.”

The boy from Duscar simply shook his head. 

“Fine,” Glenn said. “Then stay close.” 

The boy nodded and Glenn ran ahead, cutting down soldiers in blue, his own comrades, until now. He glanced back frequently, checking on the boy from Duscar. Dimitri was holding his hand now, running beside him, his eyes wide and shocked. He caught Glenn watching and reached out for him with tiny, grasping fingers. 

That’s when the magic struck Glenn, the force like an arrow to his side. Glenn felt a moment of weightlessness as he hurtled through the air. When he struck the ground, all the breath was knocked from his lungs. He was left gasping, senseless, his sword lost somewhere along the way. 

A soldier in blue approached, sneering down at a boy barely old enough to serve as a knight. His foot drew back. Glenn barely felt the kick before the world went dark.

#

“Why aren’t you dead?” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement. 

Glenn smiled wryly at Felix. “Someone from the Duscar envoy carried me off, apparently.”

“How?” Felix said. “Why?”

Glenn shrugged a shoulder. “I wasn’t exactly in a position to know. When I woke up I was deep in Duscar and completely alone. As you well know, Dimitri and Dedue never made it there.” He shook his head. “I have no idea how they survived. For a long time, I assumed they didn’t.”

“For a long time, I assumed you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Glenn said, “I know.” 

Felix ground his teeth. This was too absurd, too ridiculous. Rodrigue was dead but Glenn was alive? It made no sense. The world rocked, stretched and skewed, like he was viewing an image distorted by a mirror. 

Glenn shuffled a bit closer, leaving his stone seat to kneel before Felix. “Can you forgive me for surviving?” 

Felix chose to ignore that. The story wasn’t finished yet. “What happened in Duscar?”

Glenn sighed. “The Kingdom happened, mostly. When they arrived in all their righteous indignation to ‘punish’ Duscar for the tragedy, I hid my face and fought alongside the people who’d saved me, cared for me, brought me back from the dead.”

“You fought your own homeland?”

“Felix, please. What did the Kingdom ever do for me? For either of us? Hm? Set us up to die? Make us ‘knights’ ripe for slaughter?” His smile twisted with bitterness. “The Kingdom sent me to die. The people of Duscar were the only ones who cared if I lived. Me, a stranger. It didn’t matter. They saw me fighting for their allies, for the king who’d actually arrived meaning to give them a chance, and that was all the information they needed.”

“But you lost,” Felix said. 

“Yeah,” Glenn said, “we lost.” He looked away, seeming unsure, his eyes scanning the bare stone of the cave floor. 

Felix might have felt pity then, if there was anything left in him to feel pity with. As it was, he was exhausted, beaten, bleeding, hungry and most of all angry. Angry at Ashe for killing Rodrigue. Angry at himself for chasing the archer blindly. Angry at Glenn for … for whatever the fuck this was, for barging back in and expecting Felix to miss him, to care, to spare one ounce of thought for his miraculous return. 

“Glenn.” It was Ashe who spoke this time, quieter and softer, less ragged than Felix, though no more joyful for all that. “Why are you here?”

“Bad luck,” Glenn said bitterly. 

“Stop it,” Ashe said, tone sharpening. “One moody Fraldarius is plenty. Why are you here? Why are you restraining us?”

“The restraints are so you don’t kill each other,” Glenn said. “As for why I’m here--” He sighed. “That’s a bit more convoluted.

“I was prepared to spend my life in Duscar, once. I was content to let the Kingdom and everyone in it believe I was dead. But we couldn’t win.” Glenn’s voice took on a weary edge. “No matter how much we fought, no matter how many times we pushed them back, the Kingdom seemed to have an endless supply of soldiers and horses and war machines. 

“It didn’t even take long, in hindsight. They destroyed Duscar, killing most of its people, turning it into Kleiman’s vassal before Lambert was even cold in his grave. And … I left. I lost my second home as surely as I’d lost my first.”

Glenn was studying the ground again instead of either of his captives.

“I owe them a debt I’ll never repay,” he said quietly. “A debt I couldn’t repay if I attempted naught else for the rest of my life.

“But it was over. We’d lost. Those who could, fled. Including me.”

He looked up at last, his light eyes darkened by the specters that haunted his thoughts. “For a while, I did nothing. I just … survived.”

“You could have returned,” Felix said. “You could have come back to Fraldarius.”

“I could have,” Glenn agreed. “But I didn’t.” 

Felix ground his teeth. He could feel the rage clamped behind them, rage and hatred and more he dared not name. He might have screamed and lashed out, but he was too afraid to unclench his teeth and potentially let what lurked beyond them flow out unimpeded. 

“I’m sorry,” Glenn said. 

He reached out, but even bound, Felix jerked away. 

“Don’t.” Even that clipped syllable came out wavering. Felix swallowed it down. 

“Felix--”

“You left me.” The words emerged on their own, sharp as the broken shards cutting open Felix’s chest. 

“I was always near,” Glenn said. “I was always secretly watching.”

“I didn’t need you to _watch_.” Felix’s voice ricocheted around the cave. “I needed you to fucking help me. I thought I was alone. I thought--” He clamped down again, pushed it back, ensured only anger squeezed through his tight defenses. 

“I know,” Glenn said. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you.”

Glenn’s lips twisted into a frown, but he did not argue further. 

“Is that how you found us?” Ashe said. “You said you were watching. Did you know about the war?”

Glenn nodded. “I mostly stayed away from Kingdom affairs, but when the war started I knew I couldn’t anymore. I was sure Felix would be on the front lines and that he’d throw himself into every battle he could find. So I followed. And watched. And waited. I knew Rodrigue was at Arianrhod. I knew Felix would join him. I didn’t know Edelgard would win.”

“Is that why you let Rodrigue die?” Ashe said.

Felix glared over at him for that. 

“Mostly,” Glenn said. “If I’d known the battle would be that bad...”

“Battles are always that bad,” Felix snapped. “We were both going to die eventually.”

“Perhaps,” Glenn said, “but I was hoping to prevent that, if I could.”

“Great job.” 

“Yeah.” 

Glenn glanced toward the mouth of the cave. The light had crisped to red and purple, the day’s dying embers flaring in one last gasp of color. 

“He’s late,” Glenn mused. 

“Who?” Felix said. 

Glenn didn’t bother to answer, standing and rifling around the cave. He started a fire near the mouth, where the smoke could waft out into the night instead of suffocating the cramped space. Felix refused to speak, to offer either Glenn or Ashe even a scrap of conversation, but the silence reminded him of his many lingering injuries. None were dire, but several still throbbed, the aches no less persistent for the passage of time. 

The silence also left Felix confined with his thoughts. He shoved them aside, but there was little to keep them at bay, little aside from echoes of pain and the sight of Glenn beginning to heat water over the little fire he’d built. 

Felix had no choice but to watch the unlikely ghost of his brother heat water. The alternative was his thoughts. Or Ashe. Ashe, whom he refused to so much as glance at. Ashe, who’d loosed the arrow that killed Rodrigue. Ashe, who had once just been a classmate, a boy Felix had even attempted to help, for all the good it had done. 

“Are we even now?” 

Felix turned toward the soft question. Ashe was watching him without any particular expression on his face, a face pale from pain and concealed by the shadows seeping into the cave. 

“No,” Felix said. 

A smile curled one side of Ashe’s mouth. “Alright. Some day, then.”

“Some day.” 

Ashe chuckled bitterly. It seemed to pain him to do so because he sucked in a breath. Felix refused to comfort him, to offer any word of kindness or companionship. He was well and truly alone, and that was fine. 

“I liked you, too,” Ashe said.

Felix turned his head sharply toward that soft, chipped voice. “What?”

Ashe shrugged. “I looked up to you, for a bit. I even found you charming, if you can believe it.”

Felix snorted. “You had terrible judgment.” 

“So did you.” 

“Fair.” 

They sat in silence, a silence Felix dearly hoped would last. With every word, Ashe only gave him yet another unpleasant thought to push down and shove away. 

Glenn was adding things to the water boiling over the fire, cutting up potatoes and carrots with a knife. He looked up from his work, squinting into the forest. Glenn waved the knife in greeting. 

“Took a while,” he called. 

“Yeah, well, it’s been a strange day. You aren’t so easy to find.”

“I should hope not,” Glenn said. “That would be bad for our guests.”

“You got them?” A man stepped into view, not dissimilar from Glenn in size and shape, especially with the dark blurring his features. He was leading a horse, which he picketed outside the cave. 

“Yeah, I got them,” Glenn said.

“Both of them?”

“Yes.” 

The man looked into the cave. Felix saw his body go tense, his posture changing to ready alertness. He stepped closer, near enough that the flames of the cookfire traced the lean lines of his body and splashed in rosy hues against brown skin and hair. 

Felix heard Ashe gasp beside him. 

“Christophe,” he breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Christophe gets to tell his story.
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Join the [Ashelix discord](https://discord.gg/cjFuCx) to hear my incoherent screeching about my beloved rarepair! (Ask me for link if it's expired!)


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